Soul Sisters

by Lesley Lokko

  Jen shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Maybe not, but you’d better eat something. I’ll make you some scrambled eggs.’

  ‘Can I stay here for a bit?’ Jen asked tremulously. ‘Just for a couple of days?’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Kemi said automatically. ‘Stay here as long as you want.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m . . . I’m out this evening,’ she added quickly. A little frisson of excitement ran through her.

  ‘Out?’ Jen looked up, surprised. She’d finally stopped crying. ‘Are you on call?’

  ‘No, not work, no. I’m actually . . . I’m going to dinner with someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, no one. I mean, not like that. It’s just the guy from last night . . . the one I bumped into.’ She tried to shrug nonchalantly. ‘We sort of know each other. Well, our parents do.’

  Jen’s mouth dropped open. She’d forgotten all about the robbery. ‘The black guy? The one who took you home?’

  Kemi nodded. ‘Yeah, him. His name’s Solam. Solam Rhoyi.’

  ‘He’s gorgeous!’ Jen said breathlessly. ‘He came over to tell me he was taking you home. You never said a word!’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Kemi said quickly. ‘We’re only going to dinner.’

  Jen let out a dramatic sigh. ‘At last!’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! I’m only going to dinner. Besides, he lives in South Africa.’

  ‘It’s perfect. You’re perfect for each other.’

  Kemi shook her head. ‘Such nonsense you talk,’ she said affectionately. ‘Such nonsense. Now, lie down. I’m going to make you something to eat.’

  ‘What are you going to wear?’ Jen asked, as Kemi opened the fridge door in search of eggs.

  ‘Oh, I’ll find something. Now, stop worrying about me and start focusing on feeling better. Tea or coffee?’

  By seven thirty, however, the tables were turned. She was now a bundle of nerves, and for once she was glad of Jen’s advice.

  ‘No, no, no!’ Jen looked up as she came out of the bathroom. ‘You cannot possibly go out wearing that!’

  Kemi looked down at her perfectly serviceable black jeans and Doc Martens. ‘They’re brand new,’ she offered by way of explanation.

  Jen rolled her eyes. ‘Jeans? Doc Martens? Are you kidding me?’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  ‘Jesus, don’t get me started. Quick! We’ve only got about twenty minutes. I knew I should have checked what you were going to wear earlier.’

  ‘Jen . . . it’s only a dinner!’ Kemi wailed. But there was no stopping her.

  With minutes to spare, Jen finally looked her up and down and nodded. ‘Not what I’d have chosen for a first date,’ she said sniffily. ‘But it’ll do. You didn’t give me enough warning.’

  Kemi looked down at her slim-fitting black trousers, high-heeled black boots and white shirt, and shrugged. Heels aside, there wasn’t much difference between what she was wearing now and what she’d had on thirty minutes earlier. ‘It’s not a date,’ she corrected her. ‘And I still don’t see what the difference is.’

  ‘Jeans send out the wrong message on a first date. Too casual. Unless they’re designer jeans, of course. And I don’t see too many of those in your wardrobe.’

  ‘I keep telling you, it’s not a date!’

  Jen shrugged. ‘Call it what you like. I’m just looking out for you, sister.’

  Kemi had to laugh. ‘And I appreciate it, sister.’ And at that moment, right on cue, the doorbell went. She picked up her coat and bag. ‘I won’t be late,’ she called out, walking down the hallway.

  ‘Stay out as late as you want,’ Jen called back. ‘I’ll be asleep by the time you get back. And I’ll sleep in the living room. Just in case.’

  Kemi ran down the stairs. She was still chuckling as she opened the front door. She looked up. Her heart missed a beat. As gorgeous as she’d found him the night before in his sweat-stained jersey and running shoes, he now looked as though he’d stepped off a catwalk. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a charcoal polo-neck sweater, a thick overcoat thrown over one arm. He wore thick, black-framed glasses that on any other man might have seemed frivolous, even vain, but not on him. She closed the door behind her. ‘You’re on time,’ she said, not knowing what else to say.

  He leaned forward, brushing her cheek very lightly with his. She sank for a moment into the cushion of his cheek, smelling his aftershave, and felt her knees go weak. It had been a long time since she’d been close enough to any man to smell his aftershave. ‘I’m always on time,’ he said, offering her his arm. ‘Come on. Cab’s waiting; the restaurant’s booked and I’m starving.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, tucking her arm into his. It felt good. No, more than good. She swallowed nervously.

  ‘Wait and see.’

  24

  She was a revelation, he had to admit it. Her obvious beauty aside, behind the rather frosty facade there was a person of depth, humour, wit. He’d been attracted to her the minute he saw her lying dazed on the pavement below him, but by the time their meal was halfway through, he saw that there was something more there to be found. She aroused his curiosity. He couldn’t recall ever feeling anything like it and that was perhaps the biggest surprise of all. He, Solam Rhoyi, who’d had more relationships than he could remember or count – not that the vast majority could be described as ‘relationships’, he reminded himself quickly – he was intrigued. He’d had more than his fair share of clever, independent women, but none had managed to capture his interest, once the initial attraction wore off. He chuckled to himself as he poured them both another glass of wine. She wasn’t much of a drinker either, he noticed. He liked that. She wasn’t one of those women who set out to get drunk as quickly as possible, thereby absolving themselves of any subsequent lapses in judgement. There was a measured slowness to her movements and speech that was oddly calming. She took her time with things – with her answers, her judgements, her jokes. Her second glass of wine sat untouched. Something in her manner restrained him, prevented him from doing what he would normally have done . . . turned on the charm and taken her home to bed, whether his or hers.

  Dessert was offered. She wasn’t one to refuse, prattling on about her weight whilst simultaneously helping herself to his, either. She ate her crème caramel with relish, savouring every mouthful. There was nothing in her manner that could be described as even faintly flirtatious. It was a cliché, perhaps, but Kemi Mashabane was not that type of girl. Woman, he corrected himself. It seemed almost insulting to think of her as a girl. ‘How old are you, again?’ he asked.

  ‘Twenty-eight. Why?’

  ‘I was just thinking . . . you’re pretty young to be a fully qualified surgeon,’ he said, suddenly hoping she wouldn’t take offence.

  She did not. ‘Well, not fully qualified, not yet. It’s a long haul.’

  ‘How long?’

  She shrugged. ‘It depends slightly on what you want to do. Eight years, sometimes longer. Neurosurgery is one of the longer ones.’

  ‘And did you always know you’d wind up doing it?’ he asked, curious. Eight, ten years? It seemed like a lifetime.

  She shrugged again. ‘Not really, but I doubt anyone knows exactly what they want to do. I sort of fell into it . . . fell in love with it, you might say.’

  He experienced a sharp contraction in his stomach. He shook his head sharply to clear it. ‘Lucky you,’ he murmured, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘How about you? You said you were a banker. Which bank?’ she asked, twirling her half-full glass of Shiraz between her fingers. Her nails were short, clean and blunt, he noticed. Capable-looking hands. They had to be, he supposed. She held people’s lives in those hands, probably in the same firm but gentle way she held her wine glass. He felt again the unexpected pull somewhere in his gut.

  ‘Me?’ he parried, deadpan. ‘Well, not really “in” banking. I’m a civil servant now. Just joined National T
reasury.’

  ‘So, you’re back.’

  He hesitated, then drew in his lip. ‘I never wanted to go back. I always thought I’d stay here. When my dad was released, I went back for the first time and hated it. I couldn’t wait to get back to London.’

  Kemi smiled. ‘Me too,’ she said quietly. ‘But I suppose it’s different for me. I grew up in Zimbabwe, not South Africa. I speak Shona, not any of the South African languages. My dad was never around to teach me his language.’

  ‘I’ve forgotten how to speak Zulu. But in a way, that’s also an advantage.’

  ‘How so?’

  He took a mouthful of wine, savouring it slowly before answering. It wasn’t something he would readily admit to, much less to someone he hardly knew. ‘It feels strange, even disloyal, to say this out loud,’ he said after a moment. ‘But things are still so new back home. It hasn’t even been five years . . . everyone’s still finding their way.’

  ‘So, what does that have to do with speaking Zulu?’

  He looked her straight in the eye. ‘Most whites don’t see me as South African. Or even African, for that matter. They see me as one of them, whatever that means. I’m someone they can . . . trust?’ He said it almost hesitantly. ‘The fact that I’m as clueless as they are when it comes to that . . . speaking Zulu or Xhosa, or whatever . . . they see it as a sign that I’m just like them. And that’s a good thing, for now.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The economy is still in their hands, no matter who’s in charge. Blacks still own less than one per cent of the country’s wealth. It’s taken the English and the Dutch two hundred years to amass their fortunes . . . they’re not about to hand it over. Yes, we might have won political power, but the real power – the economy – that’s going to take another hundred years. And that’s why people like you and me are valuable. More valuable than you think. We’re the inbetweeners, the ones both sides can trust.’

  Kemi was quiet. She smiled faintly and shook her head. ‘It seems a whole world away, nothing to do with my life. For me, we’re all the same, thank God. Blood is blood, organs are organs . . . one sick person’s the same as any other. When they’re lying there on the operating table, you don’t think about any of that. A human being is a human being.’

  ‘Not where we’re from,’ Solam said, also smiling faintly. ‘Come home. Come see for yourself. We need people like you.’ He stopped himself, stunned by where the conversation had gone in such a short space of time. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, trying to laugh it off. ‘I sound just like my mother.’

  ‘And mine,’ Kemi said dryly. ‘And that’s probably why she sent you.’

  25

  She stopped on the last step and turned round to face him. ‘Thanks,’ she said softly, looking down at him for once. ‘I really enjoyed dinner,’ she added with a smile. ‘And apologies for knocking you over.’

  ‘It was worth it,’ Solam smiled. They looked at each other in the sodium glow of the street light.

  ‘Well, I’d best be going,’ Kemi said, fishing her key out of her bag. ‘Safe journey back.’

  He hesitated for a second, then leaned forward and kissed her. For a long moment, they stood locked together, although he didn’t touch her with his hands. It was the sweetest kiss Kemi had ever received. She could feel his body move towards her, laying its caress alongside hers, even though they were standing up. He broke away first. She looked up, trying to read his expression. She couldn’t. His beautiful face was closed to her.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll call you.’ There was no push for anything more. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said softly, putting her key in the lock and opening her door. She heard him clear his throat and begin to walk away, his footsteps growing fainter by the second. She closed the door reluctantly and leaned against it.

  ‘Kem? Is that you?’ Jen’s sleepy voice drifted through from the sitting room.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘You alone?’

  Kemi suppressed a laugh. ‘Yeah, of course I am. I’ll tell you about it in the morning.’

  ‘Night, Kem-Kem,’ she said, sweetly reverting to an old childhood name.

  ‘Night, Jen-Jen. Sleep tight. I’m up early but I promise I won’t wake you if you’re still asleep.’

  ‘I won’t be. I want to hear all about it.’

  Kemi smiled to herself as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom. All? There was nothing to tell . . . and yet there was everything.

  26

  The door burst open, sending a trolley of notes and surgical equipment crashing to the floor. Kemi was furiously typing up her case notes. She looked up, irritated by the intrusion, and recognized the young houseman from the general surgery team.

  ‘Is Fairbanks here?’ he asked breathlessly.

  She shook her head. ‘No, he’s in theatre. ER sent a head trauma up. What’s the matter?’

  ‘There’s a patient on the general ward . . . he had a heart transplant a few days ago . . . he’s been doing fine but he started coughing up blood, his chest tubes are full of it . . . Carrick’s not in yet so the duty nurse sent me up to get Fairbanks.’

  Kemi jumped up. ‘Well, he’s not here either. Which ward?’ she said, already halfway through the door. He ran after her.

  ‘C. We need a cardiac surgeon but she thought Fairbanks could do it in a pinch.’

  ‘So can I.’ Kemi ran down the stairs two at a time, the houseman hard on her heels, along the corridor towards the ward. They burst through the swing doors together. As soon as she saw the patient, she knew there wasn’t a second to waste. The whole bed was covered in blood. ‘Get me a chest kit,’ she shouted to the nurse who was standing helplessly by. ‘And call theatre. What’s the flow?’

  ‘Three-twenty millilitres,’ the nurse said, sounding tearful.

  ‘There’s no clot?’ she asked the nurse, as she felt the man’s abdomen as gently as she could. The nurse shook her head dumbly. She was young, Kemi noticed, and probably frightened out of her wits. The orderlies arrived moments later with the gurney. ‘Right . . . you . . . take that side . . . lift him up . . . gently, gently. OK? Which theatre?’

  ‘First floor. They’re ready for you. Who’s assisting?’

  ‘Him.’ Kemi pointed to the houseman. ‘Is the anaesthetist prepped?’

  ‘Everything’s ready.’

  ‘Let’s go.’ She ran with the team helter-skelter back down the corridor towards the lift. Every second counted. She knew that the key to keeping the man alive was to ensure he bled out into the tubes, away from the heart and lungs, not internally. It was too early to tell what had caused the bleeding, but they had to stop it. They wheeled him in, the anaesthetist came forward, and she gowned and masked up in an instant.

  Forty minutes later, it was all over. Two layers of absorbable mesh, a sterile intravenous bag, and a series of staples across the damaged vessel had succeeded in stopping the blood flow.

  ‘Pressure’s back down,’ the houseman said, watching the monitor. ‘One thirty over ninety. We’ll keep an eye on it.’

  Kemi was conscious of her heart thumping hard inside her chest as they wheeled the patient out. Someone was standing in the corner of the room. She pulled off her mask and saw that it was Julian Carrick, the resident cardiologist. He walked over, nodding to the junior houseman who was hovering at her elbow, seemingly unsure of what to do, or what had just happened.

  ‘Good work,’ Carrick said briskly. ‘I got here five minutes after you’d started. It went well.’

  ‘Were you watching?’ Kemi asked. She hadn’t been aware of him at all during the operation.

  ‘Observing, not watching,’ he demurred. ‘Close shave.’

  Kemi nodded. ‘First time I’ve done it on my own,’ she said, wondering as soon as she’d said it if it was the right thing to say.

  ‘Well, I couldn’t tell. He certainly couldn’t,’ Ca
rrick said with a chuckle. ‘Lucky chap. Could’ve easily gone the other way.’

  Kemi looked down at her hands. ‘I suppose I’d better get changed,’ she said, not knowing quite what to say. She felt a little awkward, having taken over his case in such dramatic fashion.

  ‘Would you . . . d’you feel like a drink?’ he said suddenly. ‘You look a bit shaken. It’s past six, I just realized. Traffic’s terrible at this time of day. I’m going to head to the Stag and Hound for a quick one, if you fancy it? You look as though you could do with one.’

  Kemi looked up at him, surprised. Consultants of his rank rarely even spoke to registrars or housemen who weren’t on their team. Mr Fairbanks, with whom she’d worked for over a year, was certainly not in the habit of joining them for post-work drinks. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Positive. I’ll see if Harry wants to join us. That’s my houseman,’ he added. ‘The one who came to get you. He’s only just started, sod’s law. This’ll have been a bit of a shock for him, too.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure? It’s really kind of you,’ Kemi said. ‘I’ll . . . I’ll just get changed.’

  ‘Good. See you there.’ Kemi stared after him for a second, then gathered her wits. He was right. It was nearly quarter to seven. After the sudden rush of adrenaline that had carried her through the surgery, a drink with colleagues was exactly what she needed. There was another reason, too. It had been three days since Solam had kissed her on her doorstep and since then, she hadn’t heard a word from him. Not a peep. Was it normal to wait a week before getting in touch? She had absolutely no idea. Whatever the case, she couldn’t bear the thought of sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring. She’d never had any sympathy for those girls in books and films who waited with dwindling hope for the man to call back . . . now she was one of them. Perhaps she was supposed to make the first move, not him? No, it didn’t feel right, somehow. I’ll call you. Those were his exact words. So, call me!